


Don’t be like this

by orphean



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:42:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27643636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphean/pseuds/orphean
Summary: Bruce didn’t think of it as spying. Or, he didn’t, until it clearly was.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 8
Kudos: 142





	Don’t be like this

**Author's Note:**

> I debated tagging this with Bruce/Jason and Bruce/Dick, but decided against it. This is a fic about Bruce watching Jason and Dick hook up, so there are definitely some more-or-less explicit undertones of this. Additionally, neither Dick nor Jason _know_ they are being watched, so that’s also something I want to warn about.
> 
> my google doc for this fic was “Bruce don’t be like this” and the lovely Xan told me that that should be the title, so: it basically was. enjoy!

Bruce didn’t think of it as spying. Or, he didn’t, until it clearly was.

He had installed the cameras as a safety precaution. It was a way to keep his friends and colleagues safe. If something were to happen to one of them in their homes, the video recordings could yield valuable clues. He didn’t tell them about the cameras, installed on nights when he knew they would not be at home. He understood that every one of them would be mad if they found out, but that risk was worth the safety the surveillance afforded.

He didn’t often look at the feeds. But on slow afternoons and evenings when he was alone in the cave, he sometimes allowed himself a peek. There was something comforting in seeing those he loved living their lives. He’d seen Tim finally napping, the music from whatever video game he’d been playing blasting at full volume. He’d seen Clark and Jon deciphering the instructions of a blue mac and cheese box, laughing at how _orange_ it was. It made Bruce breathe easier, seeing those he loved be safe. So, sometimes he let the feed run on one of his screens. There was nothing malicious in it.

Movement caught his eye. Someone was breaking Dick’s kitchen window open. It was only late afternoon, so it couldn’t be Dick sneaking back after patrol. Bruce maximised the video feed as the intruder rolled into the kitchen. In the motion, his hood fell back, revealing a shock of white in the black head of hair. Even without that confirmation, Bruce had known who it was. He’d always recognise the way Jason moved, a dizzying combination of precision and roughness. Even before his death, Jason carried himself with unhewn strength and purpose. That hadn’t changed with his resurrection, but he had incorporated a new kind of focus and cruelty. Bruce speculated that Jason must have trained with experts, though Jason had never confirmed it. Jason didn’t talk to Bruce.

Bruce missed him. He missed the cocky child who goaded criminals into making mistakes. He missed the man he had become, confident and charming even as he’d take things too far. He wanted to get to know him and rebuild everything he’d ruined. Bruce knew he let Jason down. He wanted to fix it, but he didn’t know _how_. Every tentative olive branch was consistently and rudely rebuffed. Sure, Jason would help sometimes when Gotham needed it, but he never stuck around.

He knew that Jason would be furious if he ever found out, but this was an opportunity to see Jason without any of the barbs and dirty looks. Bruce couldn’t pass that up.

Jason was talking to himself. Bruce hesitated for a second before he turned the sound on.

‘– fucking awful. Dick, would it kill you to do your dishes? Once a month would be enough.’ He sniffed the air. ‘Something’s definitely alive in that sink.’

Jason lit a cigarette and fished out a mug from the tower in the sink. He used the mug as an ashtray as he rifled through the mail on the kitchen table.

‘Free shake from Bat Burger? Don’t mind if I do.’ He tucked the coupon into an inside pocket.

He started humming as he unzipped his jacket and hung it over a chair. Bruce recognised the melody, an old show tune that his mother had sometimes played for him. He had forgotten Jason’s fondness for musicals, an interest he had been mortified about when Bruce had discovered it. Bruce still thought fondly of the Sunday afternoons when he could hear Alfred and Jason watching classic 1950s musicals while Bruce was scrambling to catch up on Wayne Enterprises work.

Jason moved to the living room, and Bruce tabbed through the screens to find the right camera feed. After a few minutes, he turned his focus back to the data analysis he had been working on, keeping the video on in the background, checking it now and then. It was a comforting background noise, Jason singing to himself as he studied Dick’s bookshelf. Jason was a strong singer, not that he ever sang in front of Bruce. Dick used to, when he was younger, but he was more keen on singing than he was good at it. 

Perhaps fifteen minutes later, Bruce glanced at the screen and saw Jason stripping out of his clothes. Bruce moved the cursor to close the window but wasn’t able to click it, arrested by the autopsy scar trailing down Jason’s chest. He knew Jason had that scar. Hell, he had been the one to do the first few cuts, the steel cutting into the child’s cold flesh, the skin burnt and peeling. He hadn’t been the one to finish it. Alfred had pried the scalpel from his shaking fingers and wiped his tears and told him to rest and leave it to him. Bruce hadn’t been able to argue despite the nauseating knowledge that it should be him, that it was a fitting punishment for his failure.

Jason wasn’t the child that died anymore. His shoulders were broad and his muscles were impressive. Bruce knew from experience that Jason couldn’t beat him in a fight, but of everyone he was the one who could get closest on sheer strength alone. Bruce allowed himself to look at the bare-chested man, smoking a cigarette while unbuckling his belt. Objectively, he was a very attractive man, even with the map of scars covering his chest and arms. They had to be from after his resurrection. The autopsy scar was faded and his skin was free from burns. Bruce wondered why the Lazarus pit hadn’t healed the long jagged incision, but he knew that there was little rhyme or reason to what the pits did.

He looked away when Jason kicked off his trousers.

Bruce minimised the window and focused on the spreadsheets in front of him. He kept the sound on, half-listening to the shower running and Jason singing in the shower. Jason had seemed familiar with the apartment, even though it had only been a few months since Dick had moved in. Had Dick invited him before? Bruce wouldn’t have thought that Jason would accept any invitation from anyone that was part of Bruce’s life. Then again, it was fully possible that Jason sometimes broke in when Dick at work just to rile him up.

The background sound of Jason humming and singing snatches of showtunes was soothing. He had always been so aggressive, so angry with Bruce, and it was worse now. Bruce didn’t know if he had any right to worry about him anymore, and more than that, he didn’t know if he deserved to. Jason had all but cut Bruce out of his life. Bruce couldn’t even blame him. But in the darkness of the cave, lit only by LED screens, Bruce allowed himself to pretend that what had broken between them could be repaired, that it was not unsalvageable.

He heard a door open and his first reaction was to turn to the house entrance, before he realised that it came from the video feed. Bringing the window up on one of the screens, he tabbed through the cameras until he found Jason leaning against the kitchen table. He had gotten dressed again, but he wasn’t wearing the same outfit as before. His feet were bare and the t-shirt he wore was snug around the shoulders. He was drinking something from a novelty mug, keeping his eyes on the doorway. After several long seconds, he called out.

‘Hey, Birdie!’ 

Seconds later, Dick appeared in the doorway. The camera was angled so that Bruce could only see part of his face, but the happy grin was unmistakable. (Bruce wished he could allow himself to look as happy every time he saw Jason.) Dick was still in his uniform, the jacket buttoned all the way to his throat.

‘Jay. And what are you doing here?’

‘It’s a new place. Housewarming. I didn’t bring anything.’

‘You’ve been here half-a-dozen times. I don’t think you can pull that excuse anymore.’

‘You should really get better at locking your kitchen window.’

‘I _did_ lock my kitchen window.’ Dick said as he moved closer and stood in front of Jason, plucking at his shirt. ‘I both locked it _and_ dead-bolted it.’

‘Get better locks then, birdie.’ Jason leaned back a little and cocked his head, grinning up at Dick.

‘Or, and this is a crazy suggestion, you could stop breaking into my home and accept the key that I’ve offered you like three times.’

Jason snorted. 

‘What, and play house? I don’t want that, and you don’t want that.’

‘So instead you break into my home and steal my clothes.’ Dick touched Jason’s shirt again, running his hand over the expanse of Jason’s chest, curling his fingers around his arm. ‘Can’t take you anywhere.’ 

Bruce tried to remember if there were any other cameras in the kitchen. Jason was _looking_ at Dick, and Bruce couldn’t describe the look, his face somehow both challenging and inviting. Bruce wanted to see Dick’s face. Maybe if he saw Dick’s face, he could understand Jason’s expression.

‘Well, _luckily_ , we don’t need to go anywhere.’ Jason said and hooked a foot behind one of Dick’s ankles. (Bruce found himself thinking he should stop watching.) ‘And it’s not like you want to take me anywhere, anyway.’

‘Jay, you know that’s not true.’ Dick’s hands were on Jason’s shoulders, his thumbs rubbing over his collar bones. Jason looked up at him, his face carefully neutral. Bruce remembered when Jason didn’t know how to control his feelings like he did now and wondered what emotion he was hiding. ‘I’d take you anywhere if you want me to.’

‘Take me anywhere? What would Daddy say about that?’

Jason’s thumbs were hooked in Dick’s belt loops, pulling him closer.

‘Jesus, Jay, don’t call him that. You make it sound filthy.’

‘Filthy, huh?’ Jason tipped his head back. He leered up at Dick, the grin hungry and taunting. ‘I want you to fuck me.’

Bruce’s heart stopped. In a second, he tried to work through the possible scenarios. No, Dick was unlikely to punch him, but Bruce wasn’t sure how Jason would take the rejection, however kind it was. Was there a situation where Bruce would need to insert himself and mediate between them? Would he have to admit to watching them? (Spying on them.) 

Dick didn’t punch him. He didn’t take a step away. He didn’t flush and babble an embarrassed rejection. He laughed.

‘I just did a sixteen hour shift. I am _not_ going to fuck you.’

Bruce couldn’t remember if he’d ever heard Dick say fuck before. He had certainly not heard him say it like that, affectionate and dirty. 

‘You tease.’

‘You broke into _my_ home, made use of _my_ shower, you’re wearing _my_ clothes, and _I’m_ the tease?’ 

Jason pulled Dick closer between his legs, moving his hands to rest on Dick’s shoulders.

‘Well you know what they say. It takes one to know one.’ 

Dick kissed him. 

Bruce didn’t keep track of how many times he had been paralysed, chained down, restrained, encased in concrete or ice. Never had he felt as frozen as he did right now. Bruce could suddenly name the expression on Jason’s face: hunger.

He couldn’t see the kiss. He couldn’t see how Jason might tip his head back, how Dick might bite down on Jason’s lower lip. (It shocked him how easy it was to imagine.) He could see Jason’s hands move from Dick’s shoulders to nestle in his hair. He could see one of Dick’s hands on Jason’s hip, the other curling around his thigh.

This was not a first kiss. This was _far_ from a first kiss.

How long had this been going on? How long had they been sleeping together right under Bruce’s nose? And how had Bruce not _known_ about it? 

He could hear Jason’s breathless laugh, Dick’s small noises, both half-muffled by kisses. Jason was combing through Dick’s hair; Dick had a hand around Jason’s back, pulling him closer. Their movements were practised, easy. This wasn’t new. Jesus Christ, this wasn’t new.

‘Take off your fucking pig clothes.’

Jason’s voice was rough and hungry. Bruce flinched at the sound. Dick laughed again, tugging at Jason’s clothes – at his own clothes that Jason was wearing. Experienced fingers tracing over well-trod ground.

‘Why don’t you make me?’ Flirting, teasing.

‘Mm, maybe I will.’ 

Jason tipped his head and brushed his lips against Dick’s again. Bruce’s heart stopped. The kisses grew heavy and hungry, small noises and voiced exhales, fingers chasing and tearing at the other’s clothes. They stumbled together towards the open door, Jason tugging off Dick’s jacket and kissing, kissing, kissing. 

They left the kitchen and Bruce stared at the now-empty camera feed, at the abandoned cereal bowls and the countless take-out menus. He should close the feed. This was private. This had nothing to do with Bruce. This wasn’t familial surveillance – this was spying. He should stop.

A breath. Another. Another. Bruce’s fingers were shaking when he reached his keyboard and tabbed through the camera feed to find Dick and Jason again.

Dick had lost his shirt, splayed out on the sofa like an idle king. Jason, also shirtless, had buried his face in the crook of Dick’s neck, kissing, nipping, murmuring. His hands roamed over Dick’s skin, stroking and feeling, skating over his muscles and scars. There were more scars than Bruce remembered from the last time he’d seen Dick, the last time they had trained together. Dick had gotten the jump on Bruce, pinning him down with his knees pressed on Bruce’s thighs, his hands wrapped around Bruce’s wrists. Bruce realised he could never train with Dick again, not after today. Not after seeing Dick like this.

‘Do you ever wonder,’ Jason whispered and moved his hand, unbuttoning Dick’s pants and reaching in, ‘what he’d do if he found out? Would he get hot? Would he get hard?’

Bruce bit his knuckles. Jason was talking about _him_ , and Dick lolled his head back, his eyes half-fluttered shut, his jaw slack and his mouth kissed raw.

‘Jesus, Jason, don’t be like that.’ Dick sounded ravished, his voice trembling.

(And Bruce was hard, straining against his cup. _Jesus, Bruce,_ he told himself even as he couldn’t tear his eyes away. _Don’t be like this._ )

‘Little Dickie doesn’t mind,’ Jason crooned, making a sharp movement with his wrist.

‘Fuck you.’

Dick breathed through the plosive and stroked his hand up Jason’s back, hitching up his shirt. Jason sat up and pulled his shirt off, revealing the broad expanse of his back, pockets of scars on pale skin. Beneath him, Dick grinned and skated his eyes over Jason. Dick bit his lip, a calculated movement demanding a response. Jason made a sound. No– not Jason. The sound had been Bruce’s, echoing in the empty cave. Jason pulled at Dick’s pants and Dick lifted his hips, letting Jason pull off trousers and underwear in one movement.

In a way, Bruce was grateful for the position of the camera, angled so that most of what he saw was Jason’s back, shielding Dick’s nakedness from his eyes. Like that made any fucking difference. Dick propped one arm behind his head, watching Jason with lazy eyes.

‘No, you’re right, I’m sorry. You’re not little; you’re big and hard and I fucking love it.’ Jason said, voice simpering and dark. Dick shivered and Bruce shivered with him. ‘Such a pretty boy with such a pretty cock.’

‘Shut up and suck my cock.’

Kneeling between his legs, Jason ran his fingers up Dick’s thighs, moving further down with each stroke.

‘Would it kill you to ask nicely?’ Jason asked. Bruce could _hear_ the expectant grin on his face.

Dick’s hand came up and grabbed Jason’s hair, pulling hard. Bruce could see the muscles move under Dick’s skin; Bruce could see Jason shake when he exhaled. Dick twisted his fingers and pulled Jason’s head back, baring his throat. Dick’s fingers, long and elegant, came up and wrapped themselves around Jason’s neck, the intimation of a chokehold. With his head tipped back, Jason’s eyes fluttered shut, a look of bliss on his face.

‘You don’t want me to ask nicely.’ Dick’s whisper was low and dangerous and far far too much.

Jason let himself be tugged and pulled, exhaling laughter as Dick dragged him down by his hair, Jason’s nose brushing over Dick’s collarbone, his nipples, the dip of his waist. Jason shuffled back, curling one hand under Dick’s thigh, spreading his legs. Bruce could hear the sound of Jason’s mouth dragging over Dick’s bare skin, kissing and biting his way down. (Bruce should turn the camera off, purge the video feeds, forget he ever saw this.) Jason, Dick’s fist still curled in his hair, tilted his head and looked up at Dick. Bruce wondered if he was smiling. Grinning, maybe? Bruce found himself imagining Jason’s self-satisfied sneer at Dick before he swallowed him up.

Bruce couldn’t _see_ anything, just the back of Jason’s head and the fist wrapped around Dick’s leg and his hand in Jason’s hair and the expression of Dick’s face, but he knew, he _knew_ that Jason was good at this, skilled and experienced. The way he moved his head; the way his fingers moved further and further up Dick’s thigh, spreading him further; the fingers that must be wrapped around Dick, maybe splayed with forefinger and thumb curled around the base of his cock; the sounds he made, wet and desperate and needy. (Bruce tried not to think about it. Bruce shifted in his seat, hoping the way the seam of his cup would be painful, not pleasurable. He should have known, he thought, that even this discomfort did nothing to appease the satisfaction that was growing, another kind of painful.) 

Dick’s fingers were still in his hair, but loosely, barely pushing Jason’s head down, barely holding him in place. Bruce tore his eyes from Jason and looked at Dick, and damn, that was worse. Dick’s eyes were half-shut, his mouth agape, his cheeks high with colour. The sounds he make, short desperate gasps – _Fuck, Jason, you’re so good, fuck fuck, yes, that’s it, honey do that again god god please_ – were barely words, guttural and mewling at once. Dick’s chest rose and fell, deep breaths like he’d run a marathon, like he’d fought a parademon, like he wasn’t getting his cock sucked by his brother. Jason’s grip tightened around Dick’s leg and Dick thrust his hips, fucking Jason’s mouth, fingers so tightly twisted in his knuckles were turning white.

Dick must have come, shuddering and thrusting. His face was the most beautiful thing Bruce had ever seen, eyes wide and unseeing. A moment passed. Another. Little by little, Dick’s grip in Jason’s hair softened, and Jason leaned back up, his hands on either side of Dick’s hips, his hair a mess. (Bruce wondered what Jason looked like, his lips swollen and his mouth used.) Dick smiled at him, a smile that looked half-drunk. The smile only grew when Jason opened his mouth, and even with the awkward angle, Bruce could see his grin. Dick reached out and touched Jason and stroked his cheek, his chin, pushing two fingers into his mouth. Jason leaned into the touch and seemed to crane his neck to swallow the fingers. Dick’s eyes were burning.

‘Take your pants off. I want to watch you.’ Dick sounded like he was the one whose throat was fucked raw.

Jason pulled away and shucked off his pants. Bruce could see strong thighs, sharp kneecaps, deep scars. Jason was leaning against the sofa armrest, one elbow propping his up. The other elbow was angled and his grip–

‘You look so good, Jay,’ Dick drawled lazily, head tipped back, lip between his teeth, ‘so wet and hot for me. Let me watch you come, Kitten.’

 _Kitten_ . Bruce couldn’t remember how many times he’d murmured _kitten_ to some pretty and insignificant woman or man, the endearment equally affectionate and demeaning. Hearing the word from Dick’s perfect lips, curled in loving contempt was like fire and ice all at once. Did he say it because of Bruce? Did Jason exhale, rough and breathless, because of Bruce? Bruce clenched his teeth hard enough that he could feel it in his molars. Breaking his teeth would be better than touching himself. (And a voice, wicked and unforgivable, asked: _was it_?)

With Jason stretched against the armrest, Bruce could see Dick – lithe muscle and still half-hard, glistening with Jason’s spit. Dick’s eyes were dark, staring at Jason with an expression so close to _love_ that it made Bruce’s heart ache. Bruce watched Dick’s eyes: not the way his cock bobbed, growing soft; not the way Jason moved his hand. Bruce forced himself to not think about the implications of what he was watching. Hell, how _could_ he consider the implications of what he was watching without damnation?

Dick moved. On hands and knees, he moved down the sofa, planting his hands on either side of Jason’s hips, pressing his cheek against Jason’s. God, Bruce could barely see anything now: the crisscross of Jason’s scarred back; the curve of Dick’s hips, the brush of Dick’s fingers over Jason’s biceps.

‘You wanna be good for me, don’t you?’ 

Jason _mewled_ , high and needy. Dick chuckled, the sound settling low in Bruce’s stomach. He never laughed like that. Did he only laugh like that with Jason? What would Bruce have to do to hear that sound, dark and delicious, from Dick’s lips? Dick was murmuring something, but the cameras couldn’t catch it as anything but a low susurration. Jason whimpered and moaned and exhaled _yes_ like he was being offered the world’s riches, his muscles tight and his breathing sharp.

‘I love you.’

Dick spoke as before, seductive and devoted, murmuring the words against – Jason’s jawline, perhaps, maybe his lips. Then his hands were in Jason’s hair again, angry and vindictive, tugging his head back, kissing him like he was dying, like Jason’s mouth was all that was keeping him alive. 

The _fucking sounds_ Jason made, overcome and coming. Dick wrapped one arm, then another, around Jason, pulling him into an awkward cuddle, sprawled on the suddenly too-small sofa.

Bruce breathed, counting the seconds he inhaled, counting the seconds he exhaled. Far far too late, he closed the camera view and buried his face in his hands. 

He could never tell Dick and Jason that he knew. He should never have known.

 _It’s nothing_ , he told himself even as the words felt like a lie. His nerves were on fire, begging for release. ( _It’s just physical_ , he tried to tell himself, full well knowing that if it had been strangers, if it hadn’t been Jason and Dick, he wouldn’t have felt half as much, wouldn’t have bit his tongue so hard he could taste iron.) He was above this. God, he had to be.


End file.
